


Prism

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Multi-Age, Other - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-22 20:57:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3743292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of eight drabbles, exploring Eowyn's life, reflected in color.  Each drabble is a memory, from her childhood and on past her death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prism

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

They still speak of her, in Rohan and Ithilien. Sometimes even in Gondor and the Shire.

Her life was colorful, they say.

She did many a wild and wonderful thing in her youth and later she became a healer, giving comfort and protecting many.

She slayed the Witch King, something no man could achieve. And in Ithilien, the gardens flourish, a tribute to her care.

Though stories sometimes vary in telling, one thing remains the same. She is always the White Lady.

It’s fitting, for what is white but the combination of many colors? And her life was colorful, indeed.

***

It was red, deep red and everywhere. The blood ran thick on the saddle of the rider-less horse.

In her young heart, she knew what happened. Horses didn’t come back by themselves unless there was no rider. And the blood meant…

Eowyn bit her lip and clung to her brother as their mother stared stone-faced at the blood. Silently she approached and soothed the horse, efficiently removing the tack and then the saddle.

Clutching the saddle to her, the still wet blood staining her dress, she fell to her knees.

Eowyn flinched at the sound, tears blurring all to red.

***

Sunset had turned the sky orange. She sat on a rock outside, waiting for news. Eomer offered her some bread he had grabbed before the healer made them leave, but she refused.

She felt alone in the orange twilight, alone and afraid. Mother was sick. She was so tired now, she never sang while working and didn’t tell stories anymore. That was left to Eomer.

Today she wouldn’t wake when Eomer shook her.

The door opened, the solemn healer called them inside. As she walked in, Eowyn looked over her shoulder, but the sun had set. The color was gone.

***

She saw light. Golden, honey yellow light.

It surprised her; there was only darkness for so long. And before the darkness, the black and white of battle and despair.

Her brother’s voice called her and she went, out of dark and into light, surrounded by yellow. She had come home, but waking to see Aragorn scattered the light that comforted her.

Lost, until she found it again on the battlements, in the shape of a man giving his love.

She didn’t believe at first, but the love shone like the yellow light that saved her.

Smiling, she let it in.

***

The whole world was green.

Lush, rich, healthy green. Everywhere Eowyn looked, the verdant color met her eyes and soothed her soul.

As she looked over the forests of Ithilien, her husband came to stand at her side. He welcomed her home, to their home, with love in his eyes and his voice. Standing there with him, the color seemed to grow brilliant, made so by love and shared happiness.

As Faramir took her in his arms, she smiled and let the color take them, hiding them from everyone and everything else for that moment.

And the world was green.

***

They wrapped him in a blue blanket. Eowyn wrinkled her nose at it, such a Gondorian concept to assume that boys should be covered by blue; she favored green.

Looking at her son, she softened. It did suit him. He seemed a little star in the night sky.

Faramir joined them, kissing her forehead and marveling at the child.

“And his name?”

She hesitated.

“I know we said Boromir, but he seems like such a little star…”

He thought a moment, then smiling said, “Elboron? Boron for Boromir and El for the stars.”

In her arms, Elboron stirred in agreement.

***

She wove the death cloth. It was a certain shade that Faramir loved, caught between purple and blue. Indigo, her youngest daughter had called it.

They worried, her children, fully grown now. They didn’t understand why she wanted to weave; she was hardly adept at the loom.

She didn’t think Faramir would mind if it wasn’t the most skillfully woven cloth. In each strand she placed a memory and a hope for the future.

The indigo threads of memory danced in front of her, becoming a whole. Looking at it, she felt a sudden certainty.

Faramir would wait for her.

***

She was old, now. From her bed, she caught sight of the violet twilight sky and remembered.

She remembered her father and mother; she pictured Eomer riding with Theodred and her uncle’s smile. Then came her first horse, her lessons with her sword, Merry’s laugh. Faramir’s kisses, the children’s births, her grandchildren’s games. Such wonderful memories, but it was time to let go.

Smiling, she closed her eyes and was at rest.

There was mist. Violet, like the sky. As it cleared, she saw him.

“I’ve waited for you.”

“I knew you would.” She kissed her husband, whole once more.


End file.
